TALES AND LEGENDS
OF THE
TYROL.
COLLECTED AND ARRANGED
BY
MADAME LA COMTESSE A. VON GÜNTHER.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1874.
PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO.,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.
DEDICATION.
To those who dare the unfrequented mountain paths and passes of the
Tyrol, in search of all that is wonderful and grand, this work is
respectfully dedicated by
THE AUTHORESS.
PREFACE.
The Tyrol, the land of glory and tradition, the wonder-garden of the
world, so often visited but so little known, forms the theme of the
following volume; and in dedicating it to the public the authoress
feels certain of a fair share of their approval, perhaps, even, of
their thanks; for many are the dangers which have been incurred in its
production, and many are the days of weary walks and severe trials that
it has cost.
There are no railroads in the mountains, and even cart-tracks are “few
and far between,” and those who wish to see the almost hidden beauty,
must, in passing through this enchanted land, undergo all the authoress
has undergone, and share with her the pleasure as well as the pain.
All that is grand and beautiful, all that is gorgeous and sublime, all
that is shocking and terrible, is to be met with at every step in the
Tyrol; and the following legends are but a poor illustration of the old
proverb, “There are finer fish in the sea than ever came out of it.”
The strange dialect of the inhabitants of this curious country,
renders it almost impossible for any foreigner unacquainted with
their language to understand what they would so willingly recount;
and, in consequence, thousands and thousands of sight-seers yearly
pass through, perfectly at a loss how to gratify their curiosity,
except in the natural grandeur and beauty of the mountain world. The
authoress has often noticed large parties of English and foreign
visitors wandering aimlessly through a valley, round a ruin, or on the
borders of a lake, whose history they have vainly tried to discover;
for however willing the poor honest peasants are to explain all their
visitors would wish to know, yet their kindly efforts are of course
unavailing, and these foreigners go away back to their own countries,
having passed over, and perhaps seen _all_, without knowing anything.
This little work, then, written first for the pleasure of its
authoress, she now places in the hands of the public, trusting that
it may not only be a useful guide, but a pleasant companion in the
mountains in which it took its origin.
How lovely the land of those beauties unseen,
Which touch on the borders of Nature’s fair soul!
How bright are those landscapes, so soft and serene,
Which kiss the sweet homesteads of my own dear Tyrol!
MARY COUNTESS A. VON GÜNTHER.
INDEX.
PAGE
The Giant Jordan 1
The Fisherman of the Graun-See 9
The Giants Heimo and Thürse 11
The Dragon of Zirl 15
The Wandering Stone 17
A Tyrolian Forester’s Legend 19
The Perjurer 26
The Burning Hand 27
The Three Fairies of the Ungarkopf 31
The Green Huntsman 35
The Tyrolian Giants of Albach 37
The Witch’s Vengeance 44
The Pious Herdsman 46
The Adasbub 49
The White Snake 52
The Schachtgeist 54
The Three Brothers 58
The Fiery Body 60
The Venediger-Manndl upon the Sonnenwendjoch 62
Hahnenkikerle 65
The Sorcerer of Sistrans 67
The Giant Serles 70
Legends of the Orco 73
Biener’s Wife 80
The Lengmoos Witches 84
Binder-Hansl 87
The Gold-Worm of the Alpbach Valley 89
The Glunkezer Giant 90
The Weaver of Vomperberg 93
The Fiery Sennin 95
The Spirit of the Zirl Usurer 97
The Alpine Horse-Phantom 99
The Witches of G’Stoag 101
The Hexeler 104
The Cat-Hags of Gries 106
The Locksmith of the Fliegeralm 109
The Salve-Toad 111
The Unholdenhof 113
The Fiery Boar of Kohlerstadl 117
The Butcher of Imst 119
Matz-Lauter, the Sorcerer of Brixen 121
The Mountain Ghost of the Vivanna 124
The Oberleitner of Terenten 126
The Tailor of the Zirockalm 128
The Three Sisters of Frastanz 131
The Rose Garden of King Laurin 133
The Petrified Lovers of Kramsach 136
The Gold-Seeker of the Tendres Farm 137
The Fairy of the Sonnenwendjoch 140
The Fireman Pigerpütz 144
The Piller-See 146
The Burning Pines 148
The Jaufen-Fairy 149
The Wetter-See 152
The Courageous Servant-Girl of the Zotta Farm 154
The Klausenmann on the Kummer-See 158
The Village on the Boden-Alp 160
The Gold-Measurers of Lofer 163
The Antholzer-See 165
The Mailed Ghost of Brixen Castle 166
The Treasure of the Sigmundsburg 168
The Fratricide upon the Hochalp 169
The Two Haystacks 172
The Sunken Forests 174
Tannen-Eh’ 176
The Devil’s Bridge 179
Lago Santo 181
The Alber 184
The Old Town of Flies 186
The Senderser Putz 188
The Dace Fish of the Gerlos-See 191
The Vedretta Marmolata 192
The Teufelsplatte near Galthür 194
Frau Hütt 197
The Treasure of Maultasch 199
The Nine-pin Game of Margaretha Maultasch 201
The Devil’s Hole on the Kuntersweg 203
The Sunken Castle in the Biburg-See 206
The Witches’ Walk on the Kreuzjoch 208
The Treasures 210
Wolkenstein 213
The Ghosts of the Castle of Völlenberg 215
The Fräulein von Maretsch 217
TALES AND LEGENDS
OF
THE TYROL.
_THE GIANT JORDAN._
To the east of the Ungarkopf, and high above the cavern called
Eggerskeller, there stands, close to a dizzy chasm in the rocks, the
Kohlhütte (coal hut), which is surrounded by steep grey mountain walls.
Not long since there resided in this hut a wild man, with his wife
Fangga. Jordan, for this was the name of the giant, employed himself
in stealing children and beasts which he devoured, and he occupied his
time also in hunting the poor fairies, whom he caught and killed, or
shut up in underground prisons.
One day he brought home a fairy, most probably one of those which
resided in the Eggerskeller, and who was already more dead than alive.
He threw her down at the feet of his wife, and was on the point of
killing her, but Fangga said, “Let the thing live; it will be of use to
me.”
“So,” growled the monster; “what can you do with her?”
“I should like to have her in the hut to make her work,” answered his
gigantic wife.
“Take then the thing,” shouted the giant; “the white cat to the black
one!” for the giant couple had in their hut a huge black cat which the
giant had made a present to his wife in a similar manner after having
caught it in the mountains.
The poor fairy now bore the yoke of servitude, under the giant couple,
who called her Hitte Hatte. She was obliged to wear servant’s clothes
and do servant’s drudgery, which she did so cleverly and quickly that
Fangga was contented with her, and treated her as kindly as it was
in her brutal nature to do. Hitte Hatte was kind to the cat, fed her
regularly, let her sleep in her own bed, and got altogether fond of
her. Although she had now taken entirely the nature of a human being,
she constantly longed to be free of the giants, and one day she took
the occasion while Jordan was out and Fangga sleeping, to slip down
into the valley and to seek her fortune amongst mankind. The cat, as
though she knew the intention of her friend, followed her every step of
the way, and so it happened that one evening a pretty girl, followed by
a huge black cat, entered the farm of Seehaus, which is close to the
village of Strad, in the Gurgl valley, and offered her services. The
farm people, whose name was Krapf, a very good and worthy couple, were
not very well off just then, as they had suffered some heavy losses,
and therefore at that time did not keep many servants. So they engaged
the pretty girl for very small wages, without even asking her who
she was or from whence she came. She did her work joyfully and well,
and with her blessings entered Seehaus; it was a pleasure to see how
beautifully Hitte Hatte, for this name she had kept up, managed and
arranged everything. The cleverest old peasant woman would never have
been able to do so well as she did. She went about her work quietly,
spoke little, and never anything without purpose; was always modest
and reserved, and the people of the farm left her to go on in her
quiet way just as she liked. Her greatest pet was and remained the cat,
which was also very useful in keeping the house and buildings clear of
rats and mice. Hitte Hatte only knew one fear, and that was the giant,
who on account of her flight had made a most fearful noise, and beaten
his wife without mercy; but in the valley he could not touch her, for
the village boundaries were every year blessed by the priest, and there
were all round about little crosses and chapels, of which the gigantic
race of pagans had the greatest terror.
While Hitte Hatte was still in Seehaus Farm, two boys of Strad had
climbed up the Ungarkopf to gather strawberries, and approached by
accident the giant’s abode. As the evening shadows began to fall the
boys got tired and hungry, and were about to return home, when they saw
blue smoke arising quite close to them, which ascended out of Jordan’s
Kohlhütte, and one of the boys shouted to the other, “Look at the
smoke! there, I am sure they are making cakes; let us go and see if we
can’t get some.”
They soon arrived at the door of the hut, which was carefully closed,
so one of them scrambled up on the roof, removed one of the wooden
tiles and peeped down below. Fangga, who was busy at her kitchen, heard
him in a moment, and called out, “Who is up there on my roof?”
The boy answered, “It is I with my good companion. We are hungry, and
pray you kindly to give us something to eat.”
Fangga opened the door and called out, “Come in, my boys, and you shall
have something, but be quick and creep into this hole (she pointed out
the stove), and keep very quiet there, for the ‘wild man’ is coming
very soon, and if he catches sight of you he will eat you bones and
all.”
On hearing this the boys were terrified out of their wits, and crept
into the stove, and directly afterwards the giant entered the hut, and
sniffing round with hideous rolling eyes, he shouted to his wife, “I
smell, I smell human meat!”
But Fangga, who had not been educated in an Innsbruck school, answered
him very sharply, “You smell, you smell the devil!”
Then the giant gave such a tremendous snort that the whole hut trembled
as though it had been shaken by the wind, and the boys terrified
lest the stove should fall and kill them, jumped out of it. As Jordan
caught sight of them his rage grew still more horrible; he overloaded
Fangga with imprecations and abuse, shut the boys up in a cupboard and
took the keys with him while he ran off to catch a lost goat of whose
bell he just caught the sound. The poor boys now began to scream and
implore, and at last Fangga, cruel and hard as she was, was touched
with pity, and consented to release them. But as she had not the key of
the cupboard, she kicked at the door till it flew open, let the boys
out, and told them the best means of making their escape, and away they
went as fast as ever their legs would carry them.
They had not gone long when the wild man returned home, but without
his goat, which had also escaped him, so he vowed now to kill the
boys; but as the cupboard was empty and he could nowhere find them, he
thundered new imprecations at Fangga, who however took no notice of
them. The savage monster then seized his boarskin mantle, and set off
in pursuit of them. He arrived at last on the edge of a wild roaring
mountain-torrent, on the other side of which he caught sight of them,
and he called out in the sweetest and softest voice he could command,
“Tell me, dear boys, how you got over the river!”
“Ho! wild man,” shouted the boys, “go up the river, and further on you
will find the plank over which we crossed.”
Jordan now tore along the banks of the river for miles and miles,
about as far as from Nassereit to Siegmundsberg, where he found a weak
bending board upon which he stepped, and plump down went the monster
into the wild foaming water, in which he had to struggle for a long
time ere he succeeded in reaching the opposite bank. Meanwhile the boys
had got far in advance; but the giant ran as fast as he could, and soon
caught sight of them again on the other side of a large lake which he
did not know how to get over, as he had no idea of swimming, and wade
through he dared not, as he did not know how deep it might be, and
there was no boat either large enough to carry him over. Therefore he
shouted again to the boys in a flattering tone, “Dear boys, tell me
how you got over the lake!”
The boys answered, “We have tied large stones round our necks, upon
which we have swum across.”
So he took a heavy rock and tied it firmly round his neck, jumped into
the water, and was immediately drowned. So the boys escaped, and people
say Fangga did not die of grief over the loss of her savage husband.
A few days afterwards Lorenz Mayrhofer, a friend of the farmer of
Seehaus, returning from the market of Imst where he had sold a team of
oxen, and carrying the yokes on his shoulders, stopped at Krapf’s house
on his way home, and over a glass of Tyrolian wine with which Hitte
Hatte had herself served him, he said to his friend, “One sees most
wonderful things in these times. After leaving the Döllinger Hof on my
way here, a voice called out to me from the heights of the mountain,
‘Carrier of the yokes, tell Hitte Hatte that she can now go home, for
Jordan is dead.’”
The farmer and his wife looked at one another and then at Hitte Hatte,
who, hearing the news, set down the ladle which she was holding, and
said, “If Jordan is dead, then I am happy again. Take great care of
the hairy house-worm. I thank you much for your kindness to me, and
wish you all luck with your farm. If you had asked me more I should
have told you more,” and in saying so she passed out of the door, and
has never again been seen.
The farmer, his wife, and friend were struck dumb with astonishment,
and could not divine the girl’s meaning. Under the “hairy house-worm,”
she had meant the cat. “What a pity it is,” still now say the peasants
of Strad, “that the Seehaus farmer never asked more of the fairy, for
if he had done so we should know more.”
_THE FISHERMAN OF THE GRAUN-SEE._
In following the valley of Etsch, and after leaving the village of
Haid, the traveller arrives first at the lake called Haider-See, and
then in about an hour’s walking on the borders of the Graun-See,
above which on the side of the mountain, lies, in a most picturesque
situation, the little hamlet of Graun. There every garrulous old woman
or little village child can tell him how often when evening sets in the
fairies have been seen floating like flickering candles round the lofty
peak above, or heard singing sweetly on calm moonlight nights before
the entrance to their caves. This spot on the mountain bears to the
present day the name of Zur Salig (to the holy ones).
On a beautiful autumn evening some forty years ago, a fisherman in
his little barque was setting his nets in the See. The night was mild
and beautiful, and the air so clear and pure that he could distinctly
hear the sheep-bells on the surrounding mountains, and the Angelus as
it rang from the hamlets of Reschen, Graun, Haid, even as far as the
distant village of Burgeis; and the sound of the bells of the monastery
of Sancta Maria, which lies above it, came wafting solemnly and softly
over the water. The moon rose slowly in silent majesty above the
surrounding mountains, lighting up every distant peak, and turning the
lake into a bed of liquid silver, and as the distant song of the Holy
Fräulein struck the ear of the poor fisherman, he abandoned his nets
and listened entranced.
The moonlight faded slowly away, and the darkness of night set in, yet
still he remained motionless in his boat, dreaming of the angel’s song
he had heard from Heaven. Morning broke, and still he sat there with
his hand on the rudder, and his eyes riveted on the abode of the Holy
Ones. His comrades came and called him, but he did not answer; they
went to him and found him dead. He lies buried in the little churchyard
of Graun, and every villager can point out his grave.
_THE GIANTS HEIMO AND THÜRSE._
Out of the Neustädter-Thor of Innsbruck leads the Brenner-Strasse,
close by the beautiful and rich Abbey of the Premontaries Wilten,
called also Wiltau. On each side of the principal façade of the
magnificent church of this ancient cloister are still to be seen the
enormous stone statues of two giants who bear the names of Heimo and
Thürse. Both giants belong to that age in which their huge race first
began to conform their rough nature to the ideas of civilization, when
Christianity entered into the then impenetrable valleys of the Tyrol.
One of these enormous mountain giants of the country was called Heime
or Heimo, who was so tall that he was obliged to raise the roof of his
house so that he could stand upright in it, and of the most cruel and
savage nature. The inhabitants of the surrounding country dreaded him
beyond measure, and begged him to spare their farms and homesteads,
offering to cede to him as much of their ground as he liked to decide
upon, and then, should he ask it all, they would retreat and cultivate
other parts of the country. In answer to this proposition, Heimo
yelled, while pointing out an enormous rock, “As far as I run with that
stone upon my shoulders so far is the ground my own.” And saying so, he
seized the rock, walked up the little river Sill, turned on the left to
the Patscherkofl, went down through Igels and round Wilten, and after
having arrived again at the point from which he had started, he threw
the stone with enormous force westward. Then he began to build himself
at the outlet of the Sill valley, opposite the river Inn, an enormous
stronghold, for which he carried up huge rocks from the mountain clefts.
At that time there lived in the same valley another giant who was still
taller and stronger than Heimo, and he had his abode high over Zirl,
behind the jagged, bare, and steep peak of Solstein, upon the plateau
of Seefeld, which he was the first to cultivate, and where now stands
the hamlet of Tyrschenbach. Thürse, this was the name of this giant,
hated Heimo, and took pleasure in always secretly destroying his newly
commenced building; and when Heimo discovered who caused him all this
damage, his gigantic fury awaked in him, and he went to attack Thürse,
clad in light armour, and carrying an enormous sword. Thürse hearing
the approach of Heimo, seized a ponderous beam, and then commenced such
a terrible fight that the earth trembled, and rocks as huge as a tower
detached themselves from the Solstein, and rolled down into the valley
below. Blows fell as thick as hail, and at last the better armed Heimo
was victor, for the savage Thürse succumbed to his enemy.
Just at that period (it was about the middle of the ninth century) a
monk was preaching Christianity in the valleys of the Sill, whom Heimo
also went to hear, and he felt sorry and repented having slain Thürse.
He became a Christian, and was baptized by the Bishop of Chur. Then
after having built the existing bridge over the Inn, from which the
city of Innsbruck has taken its name, he renounced worldly life, and
instead of finishing his stronghold, he built a monastery which is the
still standing Wiltau or Wildenau, commonly called Wilten.
This was a terrible disappointment to the devil, who sent a huge
dragon, of which there were already at that time a great many in the
Tyrol, to stop the building of the monastery; but Heimo attacked the
dragon, killed him and cut out his tongue. With this huge tongue in
his hand he is represented in his statue; and the tongue, which is a
yard and a half long, has been preserved in the cloister up to the
present day. Heimo became a monk at Wilten, lived a pious life, and on
his death was buried in the grounds of the monastery. The stone coffin
in which his gigantic bones repose is still to be seen there, and it
measures twenty-eight feet three inches. Upon the coffin used to be his
statue carved in wood, which has since decayed, but there is still
hanging above it an ancient granite slab on which is recounted his
history.
_THE DRAGON OF ZIRL._
Close to the bridge of Zirl, on the route to Inzing, in the Tyrol, lies
the famous Dragon Meadow. The men of Inzing and Zirl remember still
very well that when they were boys, an enormous thick long worm was
washed by the swollen river Wildbach out of a cavern which stood on its
banks, and which was called Hundstall. In this cavern the monster had
resided for centuries, and had done endless damage in the surrounding
country to both man and beast; he was generally called the dragon,
and he killed and devoured all living creatures that ventured in his
neighbourhood.
Through the cavern in the summer time flows a little stream which in
the winter is almost quite dry, and so it was too at that time; but
still it was strong enough to sweep the monster out, for when in the
spring the warm weather suddenly arrived, the little stream became,
from the melting snow, a roaring torrent, which undermined the rocky
cavern of the dragon in the Hundstall, and swept out huge pieces of
rock together with the monster himself, inundated the meadow, and left
everything together on the spot which has been called ever since the
Dragon Meadow. Even now the breach made in the mountain by the torrent
is to be seen.
The brute was a gigantic snake with the head of a dragon, two large
ears, and hideous fierce fiery eyes. He was half dead when washed out
of his hole, but in spite of that he was seen writhing his huge body
about among the rocks. Nobody dare approach him, so they shot him from
a distance with cannons. “He was a lindworm,” said the old mountaineer
Mader of Zirl, who has hunted there for more than sixty years, and
who has faithfully preserved this history. And as something to be
especially remembered, he added, “the half-dead lindworm had gasped so
fearfully that it had been terrifying to see and listen to him, even
from a distance.” “One could not tell either,” he said, “whether he was
not spitting venom,” for even now not an atom of green will grow on the
meadow where he died.
_THE WANDERING STONE._
In the Zillerthal, about half an hour’s walk from the little village of
Fügen, in a small valley on the right-hand side of the entrance to the
vast forest of Benkerwald, lies a piece of rock some two cubic feet in
measure, bearing on its top side a rude cross chiselled in the stone.
The rock is noted all over the country, for each time it is removed
from its resting-place by some supernatural agency, it returns again
to the same spot. Why it wanders in this strange manner nobody knows,
but why it stands there is known to every little village child in the
surrounding country.
At the end of the last century two peasant women of Fügen were engaged
by the day in cutting corn at the adjacent farm of Wieseck, on the
Pancraz mountain. The farmer, anxious to get in his corn while the
fine weather lasted, promised to increase their wages if they hastened
on with their work. At this promise both the girls redoubled their
efforts, but at the end of the week instead of paying them alike, the
farmer in augmentation of their wages gave to one of them two loaves of
bread, while to the other he gave but one. On their way home close to
Fügen, and on the spot where now lies the stone, the two women began
to quarrel about the bread, and at last the dispute grew so hot that
they fell to fight with their sickles, and, like tigresses, the sight
of blood seemed only to increase their ferocity; and what seems to
be incredible, but which is nevertheless perfectly true, they fought
until they both fell down and bled to death on the spot. Here they were
buried, and over them was placed the stone which still remains there,
but none of the villagers will pass that way after nightfall.
There are numberless people who have convinced themselves of the
wonderful property of the ‘Wandelstein,’ and many are the warnings
given by the country folk to travellers who seek to pass there after
the sun has set.
_A TYROLIAN FORESTER’S LEGEND._
One day a poor woman of Lengenfeld, in the Oetz valley in the Tyrol,
went up the mountains to meet her husband, who was guarding a flock of
goats there. On her way she passed by a chapel into which she entered,
and while she was praying a Lämmer vulture swooped down and carried off
in his claws her little son, who was amusing himself outside on the
moss. But Heaven ordained that the vulture should settle with his prey
on a peak which was quite close to the goat-herd, who frightened him
off with stones, and so, without knowing it, he became the preserver of
his own child, whom he had not seen since the spring. Now it happened
that three good fairies who resided in the neighbourhood of the
Oetz-Thal, beneath an enormous mountain peak called the Morin, had been
invisibly active in the saving of the goat-herd’s boy.
The boy grew up and always bore in his mind an attraction to the
highest peaks of the mountains; he became a hardy Alpine climber and
clever mountain shot, and as such a secret impulse ever pushed him
to the heights above Morin, for there--so said the legend--was the
Paradise of animals; there were herds of gazelles and stone-bucks, and
no huntsman had ever succeeded in approaching them. But the fool-hardy
boy wished to try his luck, and commenced his wanderings, which ended
by his getting lost, and being in danger of his life. One day he didn’t
know where he was, and from the ice-covered peak which reaches into the
clouds over ten thousand feet high, he slipped down upon a green Alp
which he had been unable to see from above, and in that fall he lost
his senses.
As he came again to himself he was lying on a beautiful bed in the
crystal cave of the three fairies, who had saved him for the second
time. They stood round him shining with heavenly benevolence, and love,
and their look awakened in him the sweetest sensations. He remained now
a well-cared-for guest of the fairies, was allowed to look at their
beautiful abode, their gardens, and their pets; he was told that his
amiable hostesses were the protecting genii of all Alpine animals, and
they made him promise never to kill or to hurt one of those innocent
creatures,--no gazelle, no Alpine hare, no snow-hen, not even a weasel.
He was allowed to remain with them three days, and had permission to
worship and adore them. But then he was obliged to promise three things
faithfully and on his soul’s salvation, if ever he wanted to return to
them, or, in case he never cared to do so, if ever he wished to live
happily down in the valley. Firstly, he was bound to observe a silence
as deep as the grave that he had ever seen the three fairies or been in
their presence; secondly, they made him swear the promise which he had
already given, never to do any harm to any Alpine animal; and thirdly,
never to let human eye see the way which they were going to show him,
and through which he might be the more easily able to return to their
abode. A fourth promise they left to his honour, without binding him
down by oath or vow, and that was to preserve the love which he had
shown to them, and never to have anything to do in any way with any
other girl. Then, after a tender parting, the son of the Alps was
taken into a steep mountain gully which led down to the valley of the
rushing Achen, which tears along under bowers of Alpine rose-bushes.
After these injunctions, the fairies told him that on every full-moon
night he was allowed to pay them a visit of three days’ duration, and
that he had only to enter through that gully, and give below a certain
sign with which they acquainted him.
The boy returned home completely altered; it seemed as though he was
dreaming, and soon enough from every one he gained the name of the
‘dreamer;’ for henceforth he never took an Alpine stock in his hand,
never went hunting, and never to a village dance, but every full-moon
night he stole quietly to the chasm in the rock, deep beneath the
Morin, entered into the interior of the mountain, and was for three
days happy with the fairies, to whose wondrous songs he listened
entranced. At home his form shrank, he became pale and emaciated, and
it was in vain that his parents and friends pressed him to tell what
was the matter with him. “Nothing at all,” he always answered to these
questions; “I am as happy as I can be.”
As his father and mother had become aware of his secret strolls on
the full-moon nights, they followed him once quietly, and close at the
entrance of the chasm his ear was struck by his mother’s voice, who
called his name, and at the same moment the rocks shut together before
his eyes, and the mountains crashed down with the noise of thunder, so
that rocks fell down upon rocks. The poor boy’s happiness was gone for
ever. Troubled and abstracted, he returned to his native village; he
cared neither for his mother’s tears nor his father’s reproaches, and
remained apathetic and indifferent to everything; and so he faded away
until autumn arrived, until the herds were driven down into the winter
stables of the village, and the beautiful summer life of the mountain
world died and was covered with snow.
Then one day two friends of the goat-herd arrived, and talked of a
hunting excursion which they intended to make on the top of the Morin;
and then for the first time again the eyes of the pale young Alpine
hunter became bright, the irresistible love of hunting awakened again
in him,--perhaps, too, there was some greater attraction. He longed to
penetrate once more into the dominion of the fairies be it even at the
risk of his life. As to life, he no longer valued it, and death was a
liberation.
The infatuated youth prepared his hunting things, borrowed an Alpine
stock, for his own had been left behind broken in his fall from the
peak of the Morin, and then he joined the hunting excursion which
started in early morning. First he walked with them, then he hurried
before higher and higher, as though he was attracted by the most
irresistible power. His heart grew light as he ascended, for too long
the heavy air of the narrow valley had oppressed him. He climbed as
quickly as though he had eaten arsenic, that fearful poison which
many an Alpine climber takes in the smallest quantities to make
himself lighter, and at last he caught sight of a sentry gazelle,
which whistled and disappeared behind the peak upon which it had been
standing. The young Alpine hunter climbed to the top of the peak, from
whence he saw down below him a little green spot, upon which were
browsing, though far beyond his reach, a large herd of gazelles. Only
one of them came within range, and this one he pursued pitilessly,
until the poor animal in her anxiety and terror was unable to proceed
further, and stopped on the edge of a precipice, which the huntsman
in his excitement had never noticed. He levelled his rifle--the
plaintive cry of a female voice resounded in his ears, but he paid no
heed to it,--he took deadly aim and fired. Lo! at that moment he was
surrounded by a halo of brightness, and in the midst of that brilliant
light stood the gazelle unhurt, and before her floated the three
fairies in dazzling splendour, but with severe and angry countenances.
They approached him, but on seeing their faces without one smile or
look of love upon them, the boy was seized with a deep horror. He
staggered,--one step more, and backwards he fell down the precipice a
thousand feet deep; and from the edge, where in falling his feet had
stood, pieces of stone rolled down, and a tremendous wall of rock tore
down after him with a fearful roar, and buried him for ever beneath its
_débris_.
There still stands the rock, which is pointed out, even to this day as
‘The Huntsman’s Grave.’
_THE PERJURER._
On the Kummersee, which is also called Hindersee, in the Tyrol, the
parish of Schönna possesses two beautiful mountains which they had
only hired in former times from the villagers of Passeir. But at last
the inhabitants of Schönna affirmed that they were their own property,
and therefore commenced a law-suit which was to be decided by oath.
A man of Schönna committed perjury, which he thought to do safely in
the following manner. He stuck in his hat a ladle called in the Tyrol
schöpfer, which is also the German word for Creator, and put in his
shoes some earth out of his own field. So he appeared on the Alp before
the judges and swore: “As truly as I have the Schöpfer above me and my
own earth beneath me, the two Alps belong to Schönna.” In consequence
of that oath they were awarded to the villagers of Schönna by the
judges.
But at the same moment the devil flew down the precipices, seized the
perjurer by his neck, and dragged him straight off to hell, leaving
behind him as he rushed through the air a dreadful smell of sulphur
and a train of fire. With his prey he beat an enormous hole through
the Weisse Wand, a huge mountain close to the Kummersee, which hole is
still to be seen up to the present day as a warning. From thence he
flew over the Christl Alp down to the village of St. Martin, where he
rested himself upon a stone, and then dragged the body through the mud
of the village streets, and as he passed, the devil is said to have
grunted, “For there is nothing so weighty as a perjurer’s body.”
_THE BURNING HAND._
In the village of Thaur, near Salzburg, there lived about two centuries
ago a good priest, who occupied his time in doing charitable works to
all around. In the ruins of the once huge and superb castle of Thaur a
hermit had founded his humble little cell, and both priest and hermit
were the most intimate of friends, and had vowed to each other that he
who should die the first, should appear to the other after death.
The poor hermit was very clever in making artificial flowers for the
altar, and one night when busy with his work a knock came to his little
window, and he saw the spirit of his friend who had died a few days
before. At first he was greatly terrified, but pricking up his courage,
he addressed the poor soul of the priest, who replied to him and said,
“You see I am dead in the body, but I have still to do penance,
although I have faithfully fulfilled the commands of God and the Holy
Church, have given alms according to my means, have instituted a
perpetual mass in the church of Thaur, and another in the chapel of St.
Romedius, and founded an everlasting fund for the poor. For three sins
have I this penance to perform, one of omission and two of vanity; out
of absence of mind I forgot to say a mass for which I had been paid,
and I have been too vain of my fine white hands and beautiful flowing
beard, and for this reason am I now compelled to suffer these torments.
I pray you therefore to say in my stead the neglected mass,” and the
unhappy spirit of the priest recounted to the hermit the names of all
those people for whom the mass was to be said, “Then, if out of charity
to me you will fast, pray, and flagellate yourself, and help me in
that way to do my penance, the time of my redemption will arrive much
sooner, as if I had completed them all myself. It will also be a work
of conciliation for me, if you will tell all I have just told you to my
parishioners, so that they and my successors may take a warning from
me, and think of me in their prayers.”
The hermit answered, “I will most willingly fulfil all you ask of me
and take upon myself every penance you desire; but if I tell all these
things to your parishioners they will never believe me, and will jeer
at me and say like the brothers of Joseph, ‘Here comes the dreamer.’”
“Well, then, I will give you a sign of proof which will back up your
words,” answered the poor spirit to the priest; “Give me something out.”
The hermit then handed out the cover of a flower-box, upon which the
shadow laid his hand, and returned it instantly to him; and lo! to his
astonishment he found, deeply branded upon it, the imprint of the hand
of the priest as though it had been done by a red-hot iron.
After this the hermit zealously commenced the charitable work of
redeeming the soul of his faithful friend, and continued it many a
month in saying masses, repeating prayers, and subjecting himself to
the most severe flagellations, whilst from time to time the troubled
spirit of the poor priest appeared to him in bodily form, but always
lighter and more brilliant than before. The pious hermit almost
succumbed under the dreadful effects of his severe penances, which he
still carried on for more than a year, when the night of All Saints
arrived, and again the poor soul of his friend appeared before him,
now no longer poor, but in the splendour of transfiguration, and said,
“I thank you, good friend. I am now redeemed; you too shall soon be
released from your earthly bondage, and will return to God penanceless.
I shall attend you there where there are no more sufferings,” and in
saying so he disappeared in the midst of a halo of glory.
Seven days afterwards the hermit died; and now in the charming little
pilgrims’ chapel of the holy Romedius, near Thaur, is to be seen,
framed beneath a glass case, the wooden board bearing the brand of the
burning hand, and with the duly attested inscription dated from 1679;
also the bust of the priest with the beautiful hands and flowing beard.
The imprint of the Burning Hand took place on the 27th October, 1659,
at midnight.
_THE THREE FAIRIES OF THE UNGARKOPF._
Between the village of Imst and the railway station of Nassereit lies
the Gurgl Thal (Gurgl valley), through which runs the little stream of
the Pilgerbach. On the way from Imst to Nassereit stands the little
hamlet of Strad, and on making the ascent from this hamlet up the
Ungar mountain, or Ungarkopf, one arrives after an hour’s walk at a
vaulted grotto, which is the entrance to a vast cellular cavern noted
in former times as the abode of three fairies, called by the villagers
‘die Heiligen’ (the Holy Ones). These fairies appeared from time to
time at the entrance to their grotto, bleaching linen and hanging out
snow-white clothes in the sun; they are said to have even come down as
low as Strad, and helped the village girls to spin, but people were
generally afraid of them, and they who saw the clothes hanging out in
the wind ran off in terror. In this grotto, which is generally called
the Eggerskeller, there is a small hole just large enough for a child
to creep through.
One day the cowherd of Strad went up the mountain to cut birch for
brooms, and as the lovely green before the grotto was just convenient
for his work, he sat down there, and stripping the leaves from the
branches, set about making his brooms. On the following day when he
returned to the same spot on the same business, he found to his great
astonishment that every little leaf had been swept away, and not a
vestige of one of them left. He sat down on a rock and began his
work, when all at once he heard from the interior of the mountain the
voices of three girls, which sounded so charmingly to his ears that he
was quite entranced. He listened and held his breath until the song
finished, and then he descended the mountain to the village in a state
of enchantment.
The cow-herd was soon afterwards on his favourite place, while his
herd, guarded by his faithful dogs, browsed around him; and again he
found the leaves he had left on the preceding day swept away; and as
he looked up he saw three white robes floating in the wind, but as he
could not see the cord upon which they ought to have been suspended,
he was seized with an unutterable terror, and hurried away from the
spot. “Had he only taken one of these dresses,” still now say the
superstitious people of Strad, “one of the Heiligen would have been
bound to his service for ever.”
Although the dresses had frightened the youth so much, an irresistible
longing compelled him a few days afterwards to climb once more the
Ungarkopf, where all at once one of the fairies appeared to him with
love and joy beaming on her countenance, but she did not approach him,
and it seemed rather as though she wished him to follow her, for she
looked smilingly behind, entered into the mountain and disappeared from
his gaze. He dared not follow her. Henceforth he listened only to their
enchanting songs, which resounded from the interior of the mountain,
and consumed himself in silent longing.
About fifteen years ago there lived in the village of Strad a peasant
of the name of Anton Tangl, who is now dead. One day this peasant went
up the mountain in the neighbourhood of the grotto, to dig up young
fir-trees, which he intended to place round his Alpine hut. While
digging up these trees, one of them was more firmly fixed in the ground
than the others, and he was obliged to go very deep to get the tree
up. When he lifted it out of the ground he discovered a deep hole, and
looking down he saw far below a green meadow, through which trickled
a milk-white rippling stream. At this the man was greatly astonished,
but still more so when upon the green meadow far beneath him he saw on
the grass, like little tiny dolls, the three fairies. They were sitting
close to one another, interlaced together by their arms, and singing
a sweet song whose air he could distinctly hear, without being able
to catch the words. Tangl listened until nightfall, when he could no
longer see into the interior of the mountain. Then he descended to the
village, and recounted what an extraordinary thing had befallen him.
But of course no one would believe, and therefore on the following
day several of his friends went with him up the Ungarkopf. Tangl went
on bravely before the others, and searched for the spot, but in vain;
and he was now compelled to suffer the ridicule of his companions, who
called him a fool, a liar, and a dreamer.
“If I had only held my tongue,” Tangl used to say when he recounted
this story, “and had entered into the mountains instead of telling
others what I had seen, I should have been able to bring many precious
things out of them, and should have been rich and happy all my life;
but man after all is but a stupid animal.”
_THE GREEN HUNTSMAN._
In the village of St. Johann, in the lower part of the valley of the
Inn in the Tyrol, the following incident took place some fifty years
ago.
A girl who had been jilted by her lover refused to go to a wedding to
which she had been invited by her neighbours, and where there was to
be music and dancing. In her grief and despair she raged and noised
about at home, until the evil one in the form of a green huntsman
appeared before her, and invited her to the dance. Without reflecting
any longer she went with him to the wedding-feast, glad that her
unfaithful suitor should no longer enjoy his triumph. The huntsman
danced so fast and so well that all the guests admired him, for he sang
and was the most spirited among them all. But in spite of this, every
one shuddered when they looked at him, for his mien was like that of a
snake, sly and venomous. The girl, however, did not care at all about
it, and enjoyed herself all the evening.
On their way home the huntsman asked the girl if she would allow him to
serenade her on the following evening, to which she gave a most joyful
assent. On the following night, just as the church clock was striking
twelve, some one knocked at the girl’s bedroom window. She opened the
lattice to greet the huntsman, who now appeared before her in the
devil’s most hideous form. He seized upon her and dragged her fiercely
through the narrow iron bars which guarded it, so that pieces of skin
and flesh remained hanging on them, and the warm blood ran in streams
down the wall. He then flew off with the screaming girl through the air.
Up to the present day it has been impossible to wash or rub those blood
stains away, and any one who passes through the little village of St.
Johann, can see them for himself.
_THE TYROLIAN GIANTS OF ALBACH._
In a wild mountain valley in which only savage animals and reptiles
were to be found, and in which vast expanses of moss covered the swamps
so treacherously that even bears and wolves had been engulfed in them,
a huge giant arrived one day, looked at the surrounding country, and
chose it for his abode. He dug himself a cave, built drains through
which he sent off the superfluous water into the lower valleys; and as,
after having chopped down enormous expanses of forest, he found that
it had become quite to his taste, he set off in search of a wife. He
neither wished for a fairy nor a moonlight maid, and for that reason he
went upon the peaks of the mountains, from which he soon returned with
a giantess who was as strong and savage as himself, and who assisted
him dauntlessly in all his abominable works.
In three years they were obliged to considerably enlarge their
habitation, as their three young giant sons began to grow up; and when
these became strong enough, they helped their father to build a new
house. The old giant felled the trees on the Alp Mareit, which stands
about six miles from his former abode, and his sons dragged the trunks
to the building-spot. They were not then very strong, and could only
drag one tree each at a time, which, however, was no less than eight
feet in diameter. Only the youngest of the giant’s sons, whose name was
Bartl, sometimes dragged two at once, at which his father smiled with
contentment.
To make his new residence like that of a civilized family, the giant
caught a few “flies,” as he called them, which were men and clever
carpenters, who were compelled to hew and shape the wood, in which work
the giant’s sons helped in turning the trees, as it would have been
impossible for the carpenters to do it themselves.
People call the swamp which the giant has drained the Rossmoos, and
to the giants they gave the name of the Rossmooser Riesen (Rossmoos
giants), while the new house received that of the Rossmooser Hof
(Rossmoos farm), which still stands upon the peak of Albach opposite
Stolzenberg.
After the building had been finished a few years, the old giant
father felt the approach of age in the gradual loss of his strength;
therefore he began to think of making over his property to one of his
sons. But he did not know to which of them to give it, as all three
were equally dear to him, and at that time the laws of birthright were
not yet introduced into the giant-race, no more than the institution
which exists in other places, and according to which the youngest son
receives the house, and pays to his other brothers their share in ready
money. Therefore in his perplexity he talked it over with his wife, who
advised him thus, “Give it to the strongest of them, and then you have
done.”
This idea pleased the giant very much, and that day at dinner he said
to his sons, “Boys, I am old, and one of you shall have the house;
but each of you is as dear to me as the other, and so I think you must
decide it by throwing a stone, and the one who proves himself the
strongest shall have the house.”
This proposition was very acceptable to the giant’s sons; and after the
dinner was finished, the old fellow took a stone of 650 pounds into
which was fastened an iron ring weighing 50 pounds, and carried it
fifteen paces from the Hof, which fifteen paces made just one mile, as
the giant with one step covered as much ground as would take a human
being five minutes to walk. Now they proceeded to the trial according
to the ancient rules of throwing stones, as it was invented centuries
ago by the giants themselves. He who had to throw stood with the left
leg firmly planted on the ground, while with the right foot, which was
passed through the iron ring of the stone, he swung it against the
mark, which in this case was the giant’s Hof, and the stone was to
alight on the other side of the house.
The eldest son commenced; he took up the stone and flung it, but it
didn’t even reach the mark, and fell far short into a fence, which it
smashed to pieces. The second son then fetched the stone and tried his
chance with more success, for he touched the house and knocked in the
front wall.
“You stupid asses!” shouted the old man, “is that the best you can do?”
Now came the turn of the youngest, who did even better; for he threw
the stone so vigorously and high that it fell on the top of the roof,
through which it crashed like a bomb-shell and destroyed everything in
the house.
“Oh, my Bartl!” sneered the angry old giant, “you are a clever fellow.
You have gained the house, but now you will be obliged to repair it.”
And then he began to rave, “You sacrischen Sauschwänz, that you are.
Now look at me, poor weak old thing, how I will beat you. Run, dear
wife, and bring me back the stone.”